


Gift One

by crazyparakiss



Series: A Kiss Christmas, December Gifts 2017 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Crack, M/M, Oblivious Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 11:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12911166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyparakiss/pseuds/crazyparakiss
Summary: In which Draco acquires a shadow named Potter.





	Gift One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitty_fic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitty_fic/gifts).



> I decided to peruse old prompts, from various fests, to fill for people as a sort of Christmas-y challenge and a spread of cheer. (AKA I'm manic and writing like mad--here, have all my word-vomit) 
> 
> This was a crack-y rendering of a prompt left in the 2014 HarryDracoMpreg (no mpreg in this fic, tho), and it was left by Kitty_Fic who is a dear old friend (one of my first in this fandom) so I thought, what the hell--let's make her a story <3 
> 
> The prompt was:   
> "Omegaverse AU: Draco just knew he would be an Alpha, afterall he came from a long line of Alphas. Every Malfoy in the last xx number of years had been an Alpha. So when he presents as Omega he has no idea how to react. To make matters worse, of course Potter would be an Alpha. And Draco really wishes that Potter would take his big fat Alpha-nose and stop sniffing around and following him everywhere he goes because Draco knows he's being stalked and Potter's really not that sneaky."
> 
> Also, very obviously, these will not be beta-d. And they probably won't contain much content, nor are they likely to be expanded upon. Just fun, little, written in a few hours pieces. <3 Welcome to the madness. Ha.

 

“What do you mean  _ Omega _ ,” Father sneers with such fierce hatred Draco winces. His mother grips his hand, to comfort herself or him--Draco cannot say. He’s too busy focusing on the word  _ Omega  _ echoing in his mind, mocking him as so many other things have in his short life. 

 

Mockery that turns cruel when he hears Potter is an Alpha. 

 

Because,  _ of course _ , Potter has all the things Draco covets. 

 

*

 

It’s Double Potions, Seventh Year, when Hell freezes over. Potter lumbres over to Draco’s table, plopping his books onto the scarred black surface of it before dropping into the chair, as if he belongs at Draco’s side. Blinking, Draco tries to puzzle out what is happening here. He remains silent for long minutes, waiting to see if Potter realises he’s in the wrong spot. However, Potter never moves. All he does is open his textbook, frowning at the ingredients list. When he doesn’t move from Draco’s side, after Weasel calls for him from across the room, Draco starts demanding answers. 

 

“What in the hell are you doing, Potter,” he spits. 

 

Green eyes blink up at him, from behind horrid glasses, “I’m doing my school work, clearly, Malfoy.” Potter’s got a droll tone, and his sarcasm causes a titter to run through the room. Embarrassed, Draco blushes--ashamed Potter’s mocking him. As if  _ he’s  _ the one acting weird. 

 

“Go do it with your Weasel, then, I don’t want you at my table.” 

 

Potter’s grin is slight, cocky, and Draco bristles at the way it makes him tremble. “You don’t own the table, Malfoy, I’m staying here.” 

 

Sneering, Draco hisses in Potter’s placid face, “Fine.” 

 

*

 

Double Potions is the first of many instances where Potter acts absolutely mental. It’s as if he’s been possessed by something that wants to torment Draco into an early grave. 

 

Potter follows him from class to class--even if his own class is across the school. He manages to wait for Draco after each chime of the bells, even on the days Draco is dismissed early. Causing him to grow suspicious, making him doubt his fellow classmates. One of them must be telling Potter this information. 

 

Another annoying development is that Potter has taken to following him to the bath each evening. “Sod off,” Draco tells him, the first night, and Potter acts as if he hasn’t heard. Lent against the wall he stares down at a tatty piece of old parchment, and ignores Draco as he goes into the Prefects’ bath. Each time he comes out Potter is there, reading his slip of parchment. It becomes so common, Draco’s grown accustomed to ignoring the sight of Potter around bathtime. 

 

It’s not uncommon to see Potter in the stands, alone, when Slytherin has their Quidditch practices. Draco’s tried to run him off, afraid he’s there to steal secrets, but Potter waves him on. Saying, “You’re the sneak, Malfoy. You always watch me to see if I’ve spotted the Snitch when we play. It’s not a terribly difficult strategy to figure out.” Which isn’t a lie, so Draco flies away from where Potter’s sat--feeling stung. 

 

The final straw is when Potter sits at the Slytherin table, one evening, shoving a Second Year over so that he can be sat directly beside Draco. “What in the hell are you doing,” Draco demands--not upset for the small child who’s been pushed aside, but upset that Potter is right next to him. 

 

“Eating dinner,” Potter replies, as if it is perfectly fucking obvious what he’s doing.

 

Draco narrows his eyes, “Go eat at your own table.” 

 

“I’m comfortable here, thanks,” and he goes about buttering a roll--ignoring Draco as he sputters indignantly. 

 

*

 

“I just don’t understand,” Draco complains to Pansy, one evening when he is blessedly Potter free. 

 

She glances up from her fat fingers, giving him a hard glare. “You’re not this stupid, Draco.” 

 

“Wha-,” he begins to demand, but she silences him with a precise flick of her wand. 

 

“He’s an Alpha,” she informs with an insufferably slow tone, as if she’s speaking to a dimwit. After a beat she adds, “And you’re an Omega.” Then it dawns on Draco...

 

He really is a fucking idiot. 

 

*

 

Potter is the last Gryffindor in the locker rooms that sit off the Quidditch pitch, and he’s seated on one of the wooden benches--towel drying his unruly hair--when Draco saunters in. 

 

“What’re you doing here,” Potter enquires, not stopping his task or even looking to see who is there. Though, Draco suspects that Potter smelt him the minute he was within a metre of this small shed. 

 

“It’s come to my attention that you fancy me,” Draco tells him with a matter-of-fact tone. 

 

Potter snorts, “Do I?” 

 

“Why else would you be following me about like a randy dog--hoping to get a knot in me,” Draco replies with a casual shrug. Internally, he’s having a bit of a panic wondering if he was wrong about Potty fancying him. 

 

“Fair enough,” Potter nods, seemingly bored. Then a playful smile lifts the corner of his mouth, “Now that you know, what would you like me to do about it?” There’s a challenge in his words. They are both away Draco could’ve left well enough alone, but he  _ didn’t _ . No, he sought Potter out. 

 

“Mount me, Potter,” Draco demands with a stammer, and a blush lights his skin. Potter appears charmed, standing from the bench. Water dripping down his golden chest as he approaches Draco--another of those smouldering stares burning Draco from the inside out. 

 

“Gladly,” Potter whispers--his words a puff of damp heat against Draco’s eager mouth. 

 


End file.
